


What'd I Miss?

by hollimichele



Series: Don't Be Shocked When Your Hist'ry Book Mentions Me [15]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, To Be Continued, meanwhile back at the ranch, supernatural bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollimichele/pseuds/hollimichele
Summary: Honestly, she couldn’t understand how this was her life. And it wasn’t even her life!





	

It really wasn't that Jessica didn’t have fun at nerd camp. She did! It was great! She learned how to gut a fish _and_ sequence its DNA. She got to spend a whole month geeking out hard with other girls, weird girls, smart girls, girls who didn’t blink at the fact she only packed books about battlefield medicine in various wars. And enough of them were theater kids that, by the end of July, they were all singing ‘My Shot’ on hikes.

But she was glad to get home. She missed Lily like crazy all summer, and when she finally had a minute to breathe after unpacking and back-to-school shopping and the first few days of classes, she was _really_ relieved to step back inside the library for the first time in almost two months.

Even better: Hamilton was already there, though without his usual canyon of books to either side. He just had his laptop, his notebook, and a few volumes stacked by his elbow.

"I can’t even with you," she told him, flinging herself down into the chair opposite. "What the hell _happened_ while I was gone?"

"Miss Jessica!" Hamilton beamed up at her, apparently unaware he was in the shit. "Did my letters arrive? Chernow assured me the mails were to be relied on."

"Oh, they arrived, all right," Jessica said, eyes widening a little in horror at the memory. His pages-long, handwritten letters, which required her to learn to read copperplate and were still incredibly frustrating once she had. "You just left out the bits that explained the crazy shit."

"I’m sure all the relevant details were included," Hamilton said. Jessica fixed him with a glare, and pulled a sheaf of pages out of her bag.

"You met a super-spooky immortal sorceress," she pointed out, waving a letter at him accusingly. "And didn’t mention until the last paragraph that she was Theodosia Burr."

"I’m sure it was perfectly clear from context," Hamilton said.

"You got a new apartment! And you didn’t send me any pictures!" Jessica said.

"I am hosting a dinner Sunday next, and you are more than welcome," Hamilton said.

"You also didn’t tell me if it was still haunted!" Jessica said.

"It was never haunted," Hamilton said. "Merely disgruntled, which has since been remedied."

"You _almost got murdered by an evil shopping mall_ ," Jessica said, forcing herself to keep her voice down. Honestly, she couldn’t understand how this was her life. And it wasn’t even her life!

"Good lord, what has Miss Mills been telling you? It was never so dire as that," Hamilton said, totally failing to reassure her.

"Dude," said Jessica. She rifled through her stack of pages. "That letter starts with ‘While in pursuit of the source of John Adams’ cursed inkwell’ and then you _never went back to explain the inkwell_. I’ve been losing my mind over this! What have you guys been _doing_?"

"Well, among other things, learning why one ought never let Crane investigate reports of an unearthly noise unsupervised," Hamilton said. "But Miss Mills informs me that the ringing in his ears has nearly subsided, so no harm done. Really, it was not so eventful a summer as all that; I have spent most of it right here, unraveling the same puzzle as when you left."

"Yeah, about that," Jessica said. "I did notice that’s the one thing you totally left out."

"Yes," said Hamilton. He didn’t meet her eyes. "That’s true. That, I thought better to speak of in person."

"So you’ve figured it out?" Jessica asked. "Or more of it, at least?"

"I have," said Hamilton. "It seems Eliza has arranged for me to assemble a set of instructions. While I do not yet have every piece, their intended use is clear."

He paused, and Jessica leaned in closer across the table.

"Well?" she said. "C’mon, the suspense is killing me over here."

"She means, I believe, to grant me a method of creating a hole in time," Hamilton said. "Or of finding one that suits my needs. It appears she wishes to bestow the ability to retrieve a living person from the past, without damaging the fabric of reality."

Jessica sat back in her chair. "Holy shit," she said.

"Holy shit, indeed," said Hamilton.

They were both quiet for a minute. Jessica had thought, a little, especially when she was younger, about what it would be like to have her parents back. But she didn’t remember them, not really. It was always a vague wish-fulfillmenty sort of thing. Even having known Hamilton for almost a year, she couldn’t imagine losing a whole world’s worth of people, people you knew and loved, much less what it must feel like to have a shot at getting anyone back.

"Who is it?" she asked, finally.

"What?" Hamilton said, startled out of his own thoughts.

"Who are the instructions for? Is Eliza going to come meet you in the future?" That would be kind of amazing, actually. He could take her to see their musical!

But Hamilton shook his head. "Her life is fixed," he said. "She has said as much, and the historical record seems quite certain of her importance in her current place and time. We are both reconciled to that." He took a second to get himself together. "She has also made it clear that this is a singular opportunity. I cannot simply run a ferry service for the imminently deceased."

"Wait, what? Back up."

"Hm? Oh. The surest method of ascertaining that someone's removal will not unravel the warp and weft of this mortal plane is that they are soon to depart it. But that hardly narrows the field in my case. If I do have a choice, there is a piece of work cut out for me." He gave her an attempt at a grin. She barely managed to return it, thinking of all the people he'd lost too young.

"And of course," he said, and hesitated for a long time. Jessica bit her tongue to keep from interrupting. Hamilton having trouble with words was weird enough to be a little scary. "It has been pointed out to me by numerous people that I tend to think only of myself. What right have I to pluck another lost soul from across the centuries for my own personal benefit... When there are so many orphans in the world."

Oh. He was looking at her, and he was almost crying; his face went all blotchy when he was upset.

She took a deep breath. She'd been trying to remove 'idiot' from her vocabulary, and moments like this made it hard. "Mr. Hamilton, if you're suggesting —"

And there he got his voice back. "I have no idea if it would even be possible. The mathematics are complex, allowing access to only certain places and times; I must still find the rhyme and reason in them. I do not wish to offer false hope or reopen old wounds, but if the possibility exists, it is a matter of my personal integrity that you be apprised. To squander such a chance —"

"Mr. Hamilton!"

He stopped, his throat working with the effort.

"Thank you. Really. That you would... Oh my god. Thanks. But I already have a family. Títí and Tío are my parents, ever since I was a baby. I have more cousins than I know what to do with. I'm good. Really. _And_ ," she said before he could cut in, "Eliza put all this together _for you_. You're seriously considering just handing it off to someone else?"

""Eliza, of all people, would understand."

"Yeah, I guess she would. But, Mr. Hamilton? Once in a lifetime chance here. Do not throw away your shot."

Hamilton groaned and covered his face with a hand.

She started giggling. Apparently not enough people had been quoting the musical at him all summer. "Sorry! I had to!"

"No, no, I walked into it," Hamilton said. "Fair enough. And Eliza intended this for me; I ought not second-guess her."

"Yeah," Jessica said, and they both fell silent again.

He flipped open a book from his little stack and started paging through it, more skimming than reading. Jessica caught a glance at the cover: it was a history of Antarctic exploration. Under it was something sensationalist about history’s most famous disappearances, "Disasters at Sea," and a biography of Amelia Earhart.

"If you can pull it off, though," Jessica said eventually, "I mean. Wow."

"Yes," said Hamilton. "Wow."

"So. How can I help?" Jessica asked.

Hamilton looked startled, which, rude. Like she wasn’t going to want in on this! "You don’t have to —" he began, but she cut him off.

"Nope, I don’t. But I want to. So I’m gonna, if there’s anything I can do that’ll be any use."

"I don’t deserve my friends," Hamilton said, with that wistful look he got sometimes when his head was two hundred years away. "I truly don’t."

Jessica didn’t roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. Mr. Crane got all sentimental sometimes, too, but if Abbie could put up with it, she probably could manage the same. "Mope less, talk more. C’mon, what do you need me to do?"

Unfortunately, that was when they both got six texts in a row at the same time.

"Oh, my," said Hamilton, frowning at his phone. "Jenny says Miss Mills is not responding to her calls, and she just found Crane unconscious and covered in feathers."

_How’d you know I was back???_ Jessica texted.

_i am all-knowing,_ Jenny answered after a second. _except for where abbie’s dumb ass is. also i think crane has a concussion_

Jessica sighed. "I’ve got a first aid kit in my car," she said. "You coming?"

"Apparently so," he said. "By ‘covered in feathers,’ do you think she means —"

"Wait," said Jessica. "Are you taking those books with you?"

Hamilton grabbed his laptop and notebook and got to his feet. "No," he said. "I have sucked the marrow from them. Past the dates and locations, they have nothing to report but an absence, a gap where a man or woman once stood. And as to where I should most like to create such a gap..." He shook his head. "It will wait. Crane and Miss Mills require our aid at once."

Jessica lagged behind, glancing back at the sad little stack of history’s mysteries. "What do you stall for?" she muttered to herself, then ran to catch up.

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaand we're back! We're not done, folks. Watch this space for further developments (and what, exactly, happened with John Adams' cursed inkwell).


End file.
